


On The List

by intentandinvention



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Because Jim Kirk, Dammit Jim, Flirting, Fluff, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-06
Updated: 2014-10-06
Packaged: 2018-02-20 03:26:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2413250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/intentandinvention/pseuds/intentandinvention
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first year at the Starfleet Academy is winding to a close, and Bones (and he has a feeling that he’s never going to get rid of that name) has decided that Jim has a list.</p>
            </blockquote>





	On The List

The first year at the Starfleet Academy is winding to a close, and Bones (and he has a feeling that he’s never going to get rid of that name) has decided that Jim has a list. Every cadet in Starfleet is on that list, and Jim is working his way down it. Or across it. Possibly some of the instructors are on there as well, and Bones knows for a goddamn **fact** that it’s not just restricted to the half of the Academy that has breasts. He’s vowed to never again use the access code to Jim’s room, because if he forces Jim to open the door then he can be certain that Jim isn’t kneeling on his goddamn floor doing things that Bones never wanted to see a man doing to another man.

However, by the end of that year, after he’s accidentally walked in on Jim doing pretty much everything, seen him hit on everyone they know (or at least, hopefully not **everyone** , because Jim spends a lot of time with Captain Pike and Bones doesn’t even want to think about that), and Jim hasn’t so much as batted an eyelid in his direction, Bones is beginning to suspect that his name isn’t on the list. That makes him worry, because no one else in the entire Academy appears to be in the same position. In Bones’ experience, if you’re the only one without the symptoms, chances are the virus you’ve got is worse than the one going around. Not that he’d compare Jim to a virus, except possibly a very specialised one that causes Bones to spend ludicrous amounts of money on alcohol without really realising that Jim’s drinking away the half of his salary that doesn’t go to The Ex. He suspects that that’s the charm working; it’s a little like background radiation if you’re near Jim for long amounts of time, and only spikes when he really wants something. Bones is pretty sure that he’s immune except for the drinks thing.

So it's a bit of a relief, then, when Jim leans over his shoulder whilst he’s sitting at the seedy bar they've somehow ended up in (he swears the bars gravitate to Jim, not the other way around) and nuzzles into the nape of his neck, lips tracing kisses all the way to the back of his ear. It’s less - not subtle, Jim has no grasp of the concept of subtle - less wordy than Jim’s seductions usually are, but then anyone who has consumed that amount of alcohol probably has a right to a laconic approach, since Bones has no doubt that Jim would be slurring if he tried to speak right now.

His medical opinion is confirmed when Jim whispers into his ear. Mumbles, in fact. ‘Wanna come home wimme, Bones? Norra chance you’re gonna walk in on me if you’re alrea’y there, righ’?’

Bones is drunk enough to consider the merits of that, but also sober enough to consider it the worst chat-up line in the history of humankind. ‘I go home with you, Jim, it’ll be to make sure you don’t throw up all over the carpet again, and the only one anywhere near your bed is gonna be you.’

Jim giggles in his ear. It’s a little too loud that close to his eardrums, and Jim’s breath stinks of drink. Later there’ll probably be blood in there too; quite a lot of the Academy do, after all, have boyfriends, a fact which by no means takes them off Jim’s list. ‘C’mon, Bones.’ His voice takes on a kidlike whine, and whilst kidlike is just irritating, the whine is apparently wired to circuits in Bones that deal with some pretty primitive stuff. The doctor shifts a little, and that was a mistake because now he can feel Jim pressing against his back. More of Jim than he suspects he wants to feel, ever. He swings himself off the stool, nearly causing Jim to lose balance, and the blue eyes meet his in that reproachful kicked-puppy look of Jim’s. He’s immune to that too, but on the whole, he decides, he prefers that face without blood on it.

‘Home, Jim-boy, before you slobber on someone who’s more likely to hit you than I am.’ He puts Jim’s arm around his and makes for the door.

‘You’d never hi’ me, righ’, Bonesy?’ Jim burbles.

Bones shakes his head. ‘I’m a doctor, Jim. No point me hitting people when I’m just gonna have to sew them up again afterwards.’

Bones uses Jim’s access code just this once, because he knows for a fact that Jim’s slurring happily on his shoulder and not ... not doing anything else. ‘Computer, lights.’

To his surprise, Jim’s apartment isn’t actually a tip. He’d been expecting takeaway boxes, used underwear and god knows what all over the place, but whilst Jim’s cadet uniform from that day is slung in a red heap all over the desk chair, the floor is actually visible. ‘Bed,’ he tells Jim, leaning against the wall for a moment.

On reflection, he should probably not have phrased it like that. In a move that Bones is pretty certain he wouldn’t be able to pull off if that inebriated, Jim shifts the way that his arm is draped over Bones’s shoulder and somehow ends up pressing Bones against the wall, one hand in his hair and the other up the back of his shirt as he kisses Bones’s neck. ‘Dammit, Jim,’ he mutters, pushing him off.

Bones is obviously not an expert on this kind of interaction anymore, because next minute he finds Jim’s lips on his, and the smartass cadet is **kissing** him. He’s ... not bad. His lips are hot and wet but not too wet, but for one thing Bones is straight and for another, this is **Jim**. This time he extracts Jim’s hands from his hair and shirt before breaking the kiss, then turns him around and frogmarches him towards the bed. ‘Sleep, Jim.’

‘Comin’ wimme?’

‘No, Jim. Get your ass into that damn bed and keep it there.’

It works eventually. Jim passes out on top of the covers, but Bones’ll be damned if he’s tucking in a twenty-three-year-old man, so he leaves him there, telling the computer to kill the lights as he closes the door. He makes his way back to his own quarters, strangely glad that yes, he’s on the list. He had been beginning to think that Jim viewed him as some sort of inanimate alcohol-vending machine.

 


End file.
